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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722645">Sam's Attempt at an Apple Pie Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpish/pseuds/iimpish'>iimpish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Apple Pie Life (Supernatural), M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, One Shot, Smut, Wincest - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:33:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpish/pseuds/iimpish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam dreams of an apple pie life with Dean.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sam's Attempt at an Apple Pie Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Major spoilers for Season 7, Season 10, and Season 11 (even in just this note). </p><p>Just a note on timeline: the first part is mostly in season 8/9...take your pick, really. But the first flashback is just after Bobby died in season 7. The second portion of the fic will take place after season 11, and we’ll be assuming that Mary isn’t resurrected, and season 12 forward never happened, and also that Charlie lived...because I said. </p><p>This was meant to be a (much) longer fic, but the muse for everything past this point has fizzled, and I still wanted to post what I had thus far. Maybe the inspiration will return and I'll post more. Maybe not. I compiled quite a bit of research for what I wanted to use and happen, though.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you ever think about retiring?”</p><p> </p><p>A snort. “No one retires from this.”</p><p> </p><p>It was the answer he’d been expecting, but that didn’t make him any less sad that it had come. It was also the truth. No one ever fully retired from being a hunter. The best you could hope for was a life like Bobby’s, but look at where that had gotten him. No. That wasn’t the kind of retirement he <em> dreamed </em> about. He wanted the apple pie life...with a few twists, he supposed. What was life without a little excitement? His brain and his gut were telling him that this was their chance. Bobby was dead. Dad had been dead for years. Yeah, they had other contacts, but none were like Dad and Bobby. They were essentially on their own now and the hunter community wouldn’t think twice of them dropping off the map, especially considering Bobby’s death. And while he was just drunk enough to have asked the question in the first place, he wasn’t yet drunk enough to continue the conversation. So, Sam drank more beer and stared through the movie on the television, his mind wandering back over the past year and a half.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Flashback</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Bobby’s death changed everything for them. Sure, when John died they were technically orphans, but it never felt like it because Bobby had been around. When they lost him, both he and Dean felt the loss in the very depths of their souls. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was a mutual decision. It wasn't talked about. It was communicated in their own way: a look, a nod, an understanding deeper than anyone on the planet could understand. Researchers said that twins were likely to have their own language, one that only the two of them could understand. This was his and Dean’s. They communicated silently, and they always had. A quirk of an eyebrow, or a flick of their eyes, or twitch of their lips was all either of them needed. If he thought about it, Sam would say it had developed when he was a baby and Dean needed to learn how to take care of an infant when he himself was only four years old; it had come in handy more times than either of them could count while hunting. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> One night. One night to grieve and then they’d keep going. One night not thinking about 45489. One night not looking over their shoulders for Leviathan. One night to wallow in the crushing pain the loss of their surrogate father brought. One night to try and fill the gaping holes in their chests, without judgment or questions. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The bar sat across the street from their motel. It was the true definition of a dive bar. Dark and a bit dank. The bar itself was in disrepair. The floor was sticky. The pool table desperately needed to be re-felted. There was the scent of stale beer in the air that nearly choked you when you walked through the door, and perhaps Sam would have choked on it if he weren’t already feeling the fingers of grief grasping around his throat before he’d even walked in. It was early still, and the place was nearly empty. They chose a booth in the back corner, both he and Dean sitting with their backs to the wall and facing the only exit. It was their default position anywhere they went, especially now that they had Dick Roman on their asses. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ask anyone who knew them, and they’d all put money on Dean being three sheets to the wind and needing to be poured into bed by last call, while Sam held it together enough to get him there. Tonight, it was the opposite. Dean had nursed beers all night, eyes glazed over a bit, though Sam thought it had less to do with the alcohol than his brother would ever admit. Sam had ordered shot after shot of whiskey on top of the beers. Two shots for every bottle of Dean’s beer left him slurring and incoherent long before he was actually cut off. Dean ordered the last two shots, taking one for himself. They toasted to Bobby wordlessly, Dean paid their tab, and then half lifted Sam by throwing one of Sam’s long arms over his shoulders. The taller Winchester leaned against his brother heavily for the walk to their room, and then on the door frame while Dean unlocked the door. His brother settled under his arms again and lead Sam to the bed farthest from the door. Dean always insisted that Sam take the bed farthest from the door when they were kids, and now it just stuck. Couples had their side of the bed. Sam had the bed away from the door. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> The room was typical of the motels they stayed at. Two full beds. Small television, though Sam doubted it worked. Not that they ever really used it. Bedding, carpet, and a bathroom that looked as though it was pulled straight from </em> Mary Tyler Moore <em> . A “kitchen” that consisted of a table, a hot plate, a microwave, and a mini fridge. It wasn’t anything special, but it had a feeling of home to it that he would never truly be able to explain to anyone other than Dean, and even then, he wouldn’t have to explain it because Dean felt it, too. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was a struggle, but somehow Dean managed to flip the covers down before setting him onto the mattress without much grace. Sam flopped over with a groan while his brother managed to slip his boots off and toss them to the floor. Still, neither of them spoke, even as Dean came to the side of the bed again and leaned over him for the other pillow, bending over him and propping it underneath Sam’s head the way he knew he slept. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> And then, Sam was half sitting up and kissing Dean, while Dean just stood there, frozen. Why wasn’t Dean kissing back? Oh. Right. Brothers. Sam supposed that made sense, even in his drunken state if he gathered himself enough to truly think about it. The question that didn’t draw any answers to the forefront of his brain was </em> why <em> he was kissing Dean. Still. His brain told his body to stop, but it took a long time for his body to obey. And it probably only obeyed because he passed out. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The next morning (or was it afternoon?) dragged Sam into consciousness with the worst hangover he’d ever experienced. There was a dim light in the room, but his over-sensitized eyes and brain told him he was staring directly into the sun and he wasn’t able to help the groan that bubbled up into his throat. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry and tasted like death. The room, though, was blessedly mostly silent. Even with his eyes still closed, he could hear the soft scrape of metal and he could smell the gun oil that told him Dean was probably sitting at the small table the room provided cleaning one of the guns from the trunk. Sam researched when there wasn’t anything else to occupy him. Dean cleaned their weapons. That he was doing it now was comforting. “Nightstand, Sammy.” Dean spoke softly, but the deep timbre of his voice carried it easily across the small space. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bless his brother. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Over-long arms flung out and oversized hands groped around until they found the bottle of still-cool water and the aspirin tablets that had been set out for him. Sam downed them both, finishing the water in one go before dropping the empty bottle to the floor to be cleaned up after he was sure he wasn’t dying. Dean stayed silent, and Sam stayed in the bed with his arm flung over his eyes to block out the already minimal light. Despite the headache and general feeling like shit, Sam’s brain seemed to be working on its usual level and it was currently stuck on the previous night just before he had passed out. He knew Dean wouldn’t bring it up. That wasn’t his style, and, right now at least, Sam was glad for it. He found himself hoping that his brother thought that he didn’t remember the previous night. With the amount of alcohol he’d drank, it wouldn’t be a stretch. That left Sam to analyze it on his own. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He couldn’t remember what had driven him to act. One minute he was lying on the bed, glad that sleep was on the horizon, and the next Dean had been leaning over him, taking care of him like always, and Sam was up on his elbows with his mouth pressed to his brother’s in a very non-brotherly fashion. And the only thing his stupid brain would offer to him in response to his question of “Why?”, was a mental shrug and a reminder of the fleeting thoughts and feelings about Dean that had plagued Sam throughout his adolescence. Well that was helpful. Sam let the moment float in his head a bit, trying to figure out where his own head had been at, if not in his drunken stupor, then at least before they’d started drinking. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His brain took him further than that, back into childhood, which Sam supposed made some sort of sense if trying to suss out reasons behind intimacy, which was what the kiss was meant to be. He might not know why he had done it, but his gut told him he’d meant it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Intimacy. It wasn’t something he was very familiar with. Being the kid of a hunter didn’t allow for him or Dean to develop those types of relationships when their peers would have. All either of them knew were each other. Dean was a pseudo-parent to Sam since before his very first memories. Sure, Sam knew that John was “Dad”, but sometimes, it just didn’t seem like he was </em>a dad<em>. Dads tucked you in at night, cooked dinner, helped you with your homework, made sure your shoes were on the right feet, made your lunch, dropped you off and picked you up from school, helped you with your science projects… Dean did all of those things, and more. Sure, John bought the food and paid for the motel rooms, and Sam knew that he tried the best that he knew how. It was just that John’s best fell short more often than not. So, when Sam had nightmares, or fell and scraped his knee, or was nervous to start his seventh new school in three years, it was Dean’s comfort that he sought, not Dad’s.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dean was also his brother. He teased Sam, called him “Sammy” even when Sam told him that he hated it. He protected Sam from the kids at school who called him a freak, or weird, or a nerd. He annoyed Sam, made Sam mad, and even sometimes hurt Sam’s feelings. He embarrassed Sam, especially because they lived in such close quarters all the time. Privacy wasn’t a luxury either of them had, and both brothers used it to their advantage in their teasing of the other whenever they deemed it funny at the other’s expense. Dean taught him to spar and how to defend himself. He taught Sam to shoot and his knife skills. Dean taught him how to play and hustle pool. Dean was his partner in crime, most times literally. Sam looked up to Dean; he wanted to be just like him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Mostly, though, Dean was his best friend. Dean was who Sam talked to about girls, and guys. Dean was the one who allowed him, without judgment, to talk out his thoughts and feelings when he was confused about liking both genders. Dean was the one who made him laugh, who he was excited to share a new interest with. Dean was the one who read books he had no interest in for himself, just so he’d know what Sam was yammering on about and so he’d have something to say back to him. They shared their favorite music; Dean was the one who taught him about classic rock and Dean listened to the 90’s grunge that Sam liked without making fun of it. Dean was the one who introduced him to </em> Star Wars <em> and taught Sam to appreciate movies, especially the bad ones. Sam indulged Dean when he got excited about classic western movies and wanted to play Cowboys and Indians, Dean pretending he was John Wayne in the parking lots of run-down motels or in the maze of Bobby’s yard. Sam kept Dean company when he worked on cars, asking questions even when he wasn’t very interested in the answers just because he knew it would make Dean happy. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Their relationship was complicated. All three of those things blended and melded together to create who and what Dean was to him. There was never a question of if Dean would give his life for Sam, and vice versa, or if they loved each other. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The only other intimate relationship he’d ever really had was Jess, and even that was, at best, dysfunctional. And when Dean had come to get him that night to find Dad, Sam had been planning on proposing soon. But even then, Sam knew that it wasn’t...right. He had loved Jess, but he couldn’t not picture his life without her. Sam had met Jess in a study group for one of his classes. She was pretty, and sweet, and she shared a lot of the same values that he did. She was an animal lover, pre-med, and she was exactly who he had always pictured himself being with. They had moved quickly, going from dating to living together in under a year. When looking back on it, Sam realized that he did what he thought he was supposed to do, but if you had asked him back then, he’d have been honest when saying it was what he wanted. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sam’s brain circled around intimacy, and his screwed up take on it, and why he had felt compelled enough by it to kiss Dean the way he had. He supposed that it was kind of obvious. Their relationship, in all of its facets, was intimate. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Maybe, then, it really was just the alcohol. Maybe it was the alcohol that had crossed the wires between their kind of intimacy and the intimacy that couples have. And was it really so bad if that was the truth, and they both ignored that it had ever happened? Was he a bad person to let Dean think that he didn’t remember doing it at all, even as he stays in bed less than three feet away from Dean, brewing over the intricacies of it? Sam was sure that Dean wouldn’t want to talk about it anyway. ‘No chick-flick moments, Sammy.’ That’s what Dean always said when Sam tried to get him to talk about thoughts or feelings or anything beyond a case, or facts, or food. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So why should both of them suffer, then? Sam would suffer if he set his mind to try and drag something out of Dean that his brother wasn’t willing to give, because he was like a dog with a bone. He knew it. Dean knew it. Bobby knew it. Hell, half of Stanford knew it. There was a reason why he decided to pursue pre-law. He’d poke and prod and push until they were both so miserable and agitated that they wouldn’t speak to each other for a week and at the end, Sam still wouldn’t have any sort of satisfying answer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Alcohol induced crossed wires. That was his reasoning, and his stubborn streak was going to make him stick with it, despite the tiny little buzz at the back of his brain that told him there was something else to it. Sam could ignore anything if he tried hard enough. So, he would ignore the buzz, and the fact that this ever happened. It would be better for the both of them. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> With his mind made up, and the aspirin working to ease the pressure in his head, Sam sat up with a groan. “What’s for breakfast?” </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>End Flashback</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Sam thought about that night often. It had been eighteen months ago, give or take, and Sam was pretty sure that Dean still thought he didn’t remember it. It was a bittersweet memory for Sam, but he coveted it for his own reasons that he didn’t really want to admit to even just himself, even now. But that memory had been the first in several that had led his thoughts to stray where they had tonight - to retirement, with Dean.</p><p> </p><p>“But what if we could?” he asked, looking over at Dean, who was slouched down on the opposite bed, the bed near the door - <em> Dean’s </em> bed, eyes glued to the television. But he looked over at Sam when the question had been asked.</p><p> </p><p>“No one retires from being a hunter, Sammy,” Dean repeated.</p><p> </p><p>“But what if?” Sam insisted after another moment, shifting in his own bed a little. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean, afraid of the answer, so Sam focused on the beer bottle in his hands. It was more room temperature than cool now, but still had a little condensation dripping from the brown glass. “Don’t think about the how for a minute,” he added quickly. “If we could, would you? Do you <em> want </em> to? Do you think you’d be happy?” Dean was quiet for a long time, but Sam could tell he was thinking. Dean’s brow furrowed just a little bit, his nose crinkled slightly, and his eyes focused on something straight ahead that even Sam couldn’t see. Dean’s fingertips played in the condensation on his own beer bottle and he chewed at his lower lip. Sam studied his brother, watching him to see if he could get a read on what, exactly, Dean was thinking. He couldn’t. It was frustrating because he could usually read Dean as easily as a children’s book.</p><p> </p><p>It was long minutes, maybe five or six full ones, before Dean answered him. Sam had started to get nervous. What if Dean said ‘no’? Sam wasn’t sure he could cope with that sort of heartbreak, no matter how dramatic that sounded to anyone else. It was the truth. He picked at the label of his beer, and his heart started to raise the defensive walls around itself, just in case. Finally, <em> finally </em>, Dean answered. “Yeah. Yeah, Sammy.” The answer made Sam smile ridiculously wide, and a warmth spread over and through his chest. It was a goofy grin, one that he often shared with Dean as a kid when Dean had let him have ice cream for dinner or let him read to him instead of watching TV, and Dean smiled back at him, shaking his head at his goofball little brother.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Another few moments passed in silence. Sam let the warmth in his chest settle and soothe his nerves, breaking down those little bits of defense that had started to go up. “Gonna explain how?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet.” There were only pieces of ideas floating around Sam’s brain, none of them worth voicing yet if he couldn’t make them fit together and come to fruition. The movie had ended, and Sam watched Dean stand up, arms stretching over his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” The word parroted back to him spoke volumes. It spoke of trust and understanding, two things which weren’t often verbalized between the two of them so plainly.</p><p> </p><p>Sam finished his beer while Dean disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Sam cleaned up the pizza boxes and beer bottles, turned off the television, and changed into a t-shirt and a pair of ridiculously soft sleep pants before turning the sheets down and climbing into the far side of the far bed. Dean didn’t give him long to let his thoughts wander, emerging from the little bathroom only minutes later. Sam could see the indecision in his face, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched the way he did every night now, trying to learn what each tick or breath or flick of the eyes meant; he wanted to know what decision each would translate into. Sam already knew the choices Dean was trying to decide between, but the decision always came so quickly that he barely ever had time to catalogue any of his brother’s tells. It was a slow process, one which Sam both loved and hated at the same time. Tonight wasn’t any different. Sam had barely taken two breaths before Dean’s mind had been made up and he was moving across the room and climbing into <em> Sam’s </em> bed. Sam allowed himself a small smile at that. They both shifted to get comfortable, and Sam reached to turn off the light just as Dean pillowed his head on Sam’s chest and an arm slid over his waist. Dean shifted a bit more, and Sam let him, waiting until his brother was comfortable before wrapping his own arm around Dean’s shoulders and giving a soft squeeze.</p><p> </p><p>In the scheme of things, this was a fairly new development. They had slept like this countless times as kids, their positions reversed, but that had stopped once Sam had turned thirteen or so. The night that they started again hummed warmly in Sam’s chest, despite the circumstances that had gotten them there.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Flashback</em> </b>
</p><p><em> Neither of them could say where the hunt had gone wrong. One minute, they were together, fighting five werewolves back-to-back, and the next Sam had no sightline on Dean, and he was outnumbered three to one. Before he even had a chance to gain the upper hand, pain seared through his leg, but the hunter pushed through it. It was life or death and his adrenaline gland was getting a workout, pumping feel-good hormones through his body to keep him moving and going and </em> breathing <em> . </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The rest was fuzzy, or not there at all, until he woke up in the passenger seat of the Impala. His right leg was on fire, but they were moving, and he was in the car and without even looking Sam knew that meant that Dean was just as okay as he was. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Getting out of the car sucked, but he managed, and Sam hobbled into their motel room. He was stripping off his ruined jeans before he collapsed into a chair, half bent over to inspect the deep gash to his right thigh. It was still bleeding, but not heavily, and Sam was grateful for that. It meant his femoral artery hadn’t been nicked. He was about to look up to tell Dean he needed stitches when he found a bottle of whiskey and two nondescript pills in front of his face. “Thanks.” Sam swallowed both pills with two mouthfuls of whiskey, not bothering to ask Dean what drug he’d just taken. Dean wouldn’t have given it to him if he hadn’t taken the combination himself at some point. And this was a familiar scene to boot, one of them drugging the other enough to stitch him up with minimal pain and so the injured brother could sleep through the night. Sam slouched down into the chair, sipping the liquor now as they both waited for the buzz of alcohol and (likely) opioids to kick in. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It took only minutes, the combination of drugs causing Sam to prematurely slur his words. His mouth and tongue felt heavy and tingly, and his body felt warm. “S’good.” Through the fuzz, Sam watched as Dean started to inspect and then clean the wound to his leg. Dean’s touch was gentle, though he knew that if he hadn’t been so drugged, he’d feel the rough calluses on Dean’s fingers scratching at his skin. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sam wasn’t sure why he started talking. He's reminded of the night all those months ago when he’d gotten so drunk and kissed Dean. Not that he’s going to kiss him now, he’s in much more control of himself tonight, but the words are tumbling out and they have the potential to be just as bad. Sam can’t stop them, either. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “‘Member when we were in Indiana, De?” he asked, words still slurring together. Sam’s eyes have slipped shut by now, and he can feel Dean beginning to sew up the cut on his thigh. “You’n’dad lef’ me in that motel for a few days to go help Bobby wit’ somethin’. Y-you came back all f’cked up from tha’ w’rewolf ‘n’ dad hadda sticsh you up ‘n’ then we fell ‘sleep all cuddle’ t’gether. ‘Member?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dean’s response was spoken softly, his concentration never wavering from his task. “Yeah, Sammy. I remember.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “C-can we do tha’ ‘gain tonigh’? Cus I don’ feel good ‘n’ I liked wh’n you cuddle’ me wh’n I was sick.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dean’s fingers stilled for just a second before they continued to sew the neat line of stitches. Sam opened his eyes enough to see the small smile playing at the corners of Dean’s mouth. “Yeah, Sammy,” he repeated. “We can do that.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Good.” He continued to watch Dean. It took barely any time at all for his brother to finish sewing him up, but Sam’s eyes grew wide when he watched Dean bend forward to press a kiss to the middle of the cut. To Sam, it felt as though time slowed down. What probably only took seconds for Dean’s lips to come into contact with his skin felt like it took forever. Despite being numb from the alcohol and pills, Dean’s lips felt soft and warm against Sam’s skin. He sucked in a small breath, and then Sam silently mourned the loss of Dean’s mouth on his leg as Dean stood up and cleaned up the medical supplies. Sam’s brain had stopped processing anything, and he looked up at Dean, eyes still wide. Dean chuckled a little at him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You liked when I kissed your boo-boos, too, baby brother.” Dean reached forward and messed up Sam’s hair as he walked by him to return the medical kit to his duffle. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Y-yeah…” Sam could feel the flush underneath his skin rise up quickly through his chest and neck to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Even drunk and high, he hoped he could pass it off as the alcohol’s doing. That thought didn’t stop him from taking another drink from the whiskey bottle, which Dean plucked from his hand not a second afterward. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Time for bed, Sam.” It was a chore to haul himself up from the chair, and in the end Dean had to catch him underneath his arms to help lift and steady him. Sam was unsteady on his feet, but Dean helped him over to the far side of the far bed. Dean only let go once Sam was safely situated in the bed. Sam still whined a little, though he’d deny it, when his brother pulled away to walk around the bed. Dean shook his head. “I ain’t climbin’ over you, Sammy. Relax.” And he did relax, just as soon as he was sure that Dean was going to climb into the bed with him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sam was nearly wrapped around Dean before his brother even had the covers pulled over him. Arms and legs tangled in and around Dean’s own legs and torso, Sam’s head finding a comfortable spot where Dean’s shoulder met his chest, nudged up against the bottom of Dean’s chin. “Frickin’ octopus,” Dean muttered affectionately. Sam only hummed in response, content now that they were cuddled together. He felt Dean’s fingers at his scalp, combing through his hair while scratching lightly. If humans could purr, Sam’s chest would have been rumbling deeply as he drifted to sleep. </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>End Flashback</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Dean had shared his bed for two weeks until the gash had healed and the stitches could be removed. Like the previous kiss in the motel room, neither Sam nor Dean talked about the kiss pressed to Sam’s thigh after Dean had sewed up the cut. They also didn’t talk about Dean fluctuating back and forth between Sam’s bed and his own after those first two weeks, or about the nights that Dean turned into the octopus and wrapped himself around Sam. Those things simply became a part of their lives. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I want to make the decision.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s quiet words startled Sam, because he thought his brother had fallen asleep. Sam let the words roll through his head a bit, trying to decipher their meaning, or at least the subject Dean was talking about. “What do you mean?” he finally asked, sure that Dean was talking about retirement but still not understanding.</p><p> </p><p>There was a long pause before Dean answered. “I always have to. I’m tired. Whatever you want, Sammy, whatever you decide, we’ll do it. I can’t… I want...” Dean paused, stumbling over words which was unlike him. Dean huffed out a breath, which ghosted over Sam’s chest. Sam let him work it out in his own time, trusting that eventually the words would come out. His fingers drew patterns over Dean’s shoulder while he waited, soft and meaningless and mindless. Eventually, Dean spoke again. “I’ll tell you what I think, and give you my opinion. But please, Sammy. Just make the damn decision...for the both of us.”</p><p> </p><p>For so few words, it was a lot to process. They didn’t often talk about how they were feeling. It was a holdover from growing up with John Winchester, and it was something that Dean had better adapted to and held onto much more closely than Sam did. Sam kept his own inner musings and thoughts and feelings to himself more often than not because he knew that talking about them would, or at least had the potential to, make Dean feel uncomfortable. It was why the request had caught Sam so off guard - he didn’t even have an inkling that those thoughts and feelings had been forming inside of Dean’s head and chest. Hearing the words also made Sam’s heart clench a little, because he knew that the feeling had to be strong, almost overwhelming, for Dean to voice it like he did: out of nowhere and leaving himself vulnerable to Sam’s laughter if he so chose to laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Sam didn’t laugh. “Okay.” One simple word, and Sam felt Dean’s tension melting away, leaving him sagged against Sam’s body in relief. Sam thought about leaving it at that. He could. It would be easy. It was all Dean asked for, and there was no reason to branch the conversation out right now. Except that Sam knew that if he didn’t, there likely wouldn’t be another opportunity to bring it up again and ask his questions without Dean claming up on him. So he asked, keeping his voice soft as though he was trying to coax a kitten out from under a bush. “Do you mean just about this, De? Or only certain things? I need to know.” Sam’s fingers found their way to Dean’s hair, and he started scratching at his brother’s scalp lightly. It was something that had always soothed Dean, and Sam was counting on it now. He felt Dean tense when he asked questions, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. </p><p> </p><p>Sam could almost <em> hear </em> Dean thinking. “Everything,” was the quiet answer, a long while later. “The big things,” Dean amended after a minute. </p><p> </p><p>Sam thought about the answer for several long minutes before asking more questions. “Where we would live?” A nod. He’d expected that, really, but his heart needed to be sure. “What about the type of work you want to do? Where you work?” A shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t matter, Sammy. Whatever decision you make, you’ll make it while thinking about the things I want and like and need. It’s just what you do.” </p><p> </p><p>Sam knew that to be true, but it didn’t make him any less nervous. What if he screwed up? What if Dean wound up unhappy because of a decision he made? What if they failed because of a decision that he made? What if <em> Dean </em>failed? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. But then, Dean had done it for all these years, for the most part. Sam always defaulted to Dean, and Dean never complained. What kind of person would he be to deny Dean this? And Dean would let Sam deny him; Dean would continue to shoulder the burden if Sam said ‘No’. Sam still doubted himself. “It means talking, Dean. Like this. About feelings and wants and needs and all the things we don’t really talk about. I… I need that. Maybe just at first, but I need to be sure. I need to know you’re okay, with whatever’s going on.” Maybe it was selfish of him. Dean certainly never asked Sam to talk like this when decisions needed to be made. </p><p> </p><p>Dean shifted a bit, lifting his head and pressing his nose into the side of Sam’s neck while pressing closer along the length of their bodies. Sam’s breath caught in his throat, even as the hand he’d been resting on his own stomach came fully across his body to rest on Dean’s hip now. They had slept cuddled together on and off for months, but the new position of Dean’s head and face held a new intimacy to it. A head on a chest tucked underneath a chin with an arm draped over a waist, and maybe their legs tangled together. This was a step up from that, and it had Sam wondering what it meant; he wondered if it meant anything. Was it done on purpose? Did Dean want more than what they were doing? Did Dean realize that the shift would broadcast that he wanted more to Sam? “I know.” The words broke through the thoughts that were beginning to spiral around each other, and Sam was grateful for it. </p><p> </p><p>“Is this why you shift between our beds?” The words were out of Sam’s mouth before he could think to push them away. They didn’t talk about it. Would Dean pull away now? Would he stop sleeping in Sam’s bed all together? Sam’s heart hammered in his chest - could Dean feel it? - and fear was pulsing through his veins at how Dean would, could, might react to the question. Walls were shoring up again, his heart gearing up to protect itself from the hurt that was all but guaranteed to come.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p> </p><p>Sam shifted a fraction, just enough to twist his head enough to look at Dean, who looked back. It was difficult not to get lost in the gaze, especially because all Sam wanted to do was to sink down into it. He touched their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “I want you here, De.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Sam’s eyes opened again, and Dean’s were infinitely closer than they had been just seconds ago. His breath hitched in his chest. Sam wanted to believe it was because of the easy agreement from Dean, but his heart knew better. Still, Sam didn’t move. Dean did, though. His chin lifted and his head tilted and then Dean’s mouth brushed against Sam’s, and all the air in Sam’s lungs was gone. It was brief, just the softest brush of lips, and both Sam and Dean were watching each other, eyes wide as though neither could believe that it had just happened. </p><p> </p><p>Sam moved this time, kissing Dean ever so softly, afraid that his brother might push him away and reject him. For a brief second, Sam wondered if Dean would just let him press their lips together and not respond like he did in that motel room, but then Dean <em> did </em> respond; Dean kissed him back and Sam could have cried. Their lips slotted together, Sam taking Dean’s bottom lip in between his own, kissing him properly now. His hold on Dean’s hip tightened, pulling their bodies a fraction of an inch closer while Dean kissed him harder. Sam lost track of time. Kissing Dean was everything he thought it would be. He could feel his soul singing. His hold on Dean tightened, not even a single molecule of air left between their bodies, and when the kissing ended, Sam didn’t move away. He rested his forehead back against Dean’s, who spoke first after a long silence. “How long?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s answer was instantaneous, barely a soft breath of a word but it was loud enough for the two of them. “Forever.” He looked at Dean, his heart and soul bared completely to and for Dean. “I was eleven when I realized I wanted to kiss you; I wanted you to kiss me. I… Some kid - an older girl at school - explained what it <em> meant </em> to kiss someone like that and I knew. I knew that I wanted to kiss you like that. I knew that there wouldn’t ever be anyone else who made me feel the way you made me feel. It was a stupid rom-com ‘moment’ where the light bulb went off and there was no going back or un-knowing it. It was just as much of a fact as my name, or that we would leave wherever we were soon.” He brushed their lips together again, taking the thing he had wanted the most for so long now that he was finally - <em> finally </em> - allowed to. “I want this, Dean. All of it. Retirement. Apple pie life. White picket fence… I want to pay bills and a mortgage that have both our names on them. I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you and come <em> home </em> to you - a real home that we create together. I want you to have a garage for Baby, I want us to have jobs that we love and won’t kill us. I want… I want neighbors, and I want them to <em> know </em> that we love each other… And I’ll make those decisions, I will, but I have to know if you want those things, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean didn’t answer in words, like Sam was expecting. He crushed their mouths together, hard and needy and desperate. Dean held onto Sam tightly, like he thought Sam would disappear if he loosened his grip on him. And Sam gave as good as he got, clinging onto Dean like their lives depended on it, kissing Dean with everything he had to give him. They could have kissed each other for minutes or for hours, Sam wasn’t sure, but they both eventually drifted off into sleep holding onto the other and pressed against each other and <em> happy </em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>XXXX</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Sam didn’t think about how they had gotten to this point. The last four-ish years were hard, but the last hour was probably one of the most difficult of his life. He was tasked with having to say goodbye to Dean, the person he loved most in this world. </p><p> </p><p>They hadn’t spoken of retirement since that last night three years ago, but Sam and Charlie had been working hard since then to put everything into place. Sam was just waiting for the right time to pull the trigger, so to speak. He had been hoping that this would finally be it, but of course life always had to kick his plans down. Only this time, it was taking Dean away from him and Sam felt his heart shattering with each minute that passed. </p><p> </p><p>They stood looking at their mother’s grave, side by side, shoulders touching and hands brushing. They had no need to be careful about their relationship in front of the people who were with them, and really Sam thought they were all lucky that he wasn’t clinging desperately to Dean now that they were on the cusp of destroying his entire life. He told himself he was entitled to be a little melodramatic right about now. “Dean, you know, you don’t have to do this.” He looked over to his brother, hoping that just that one sentence would have Dean change his mind. </p><p> </p><p>“‘Course I do. I just have to get close.” Sam studied Dean. The sun was hanging lower in the sky than it had been, glowing more orange than yellow. He understood why Dean felt this way. He really did. It didn’t mean that Sam had to like it. “I can do that, okay?” Sam only nodded, and not very enthusiastically. “I can do that.” Sam wondered who Dean was trying to convince between the two of them. Maybe both.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, if this works, um, that bomb goes off.” That sounded better in his head. Dean clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed before turning to start walking toward the motley crew collection of friends and family who were with them.</p><p> </p><p>“I know.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam didn’t follow Dean. He couldn’t yet. His heart and brain were at war with each other. His heart wanted to shut down all operations; it needed to protect itself from the all encompassing hurt that was beating against it in this moment. Sam’s brain was telling him to start planning on how to cope with living without Dean. He wasn’t sure if there’s any such thing, and if there was, Sam didn’t want to think about it yet. Maybe he was still hoping for a miracle, even if he didn’t expect it to happen. Hope has always been a dangerous thing, but Sam allowed himself the smallest amount of it, telling himself he just needs to get through the next ten minutes. For Dean’s sake. He touched his fingers to his lips and then touched them to his mother's headstone with a silent plea that she look after Dean, because he had clearly failed in that department.</p><p> </p><p>Sam turned around, then, as ready as he could be to re-join the group. Dean was already addressing the group. “Okay, look. I want a big funeral. Alright? I’m talking epic. Okay? Open bar, choir, Sabbath cover band, and Gary Busey reading the eulogy.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam can’t help the small chuckle. His heart calls him a traitor. “Done.”</p><p> </p><p>“And for my ashes, I like it here.” Dean stopped to look around for only a minute. “Yeah. You know, as far as eternal resting places go.” Sam cringed. He didn’t want to think about it, but saying these things seemed to help Dean keep his own head afloat in the face of death and Sam had never been one to deny Dean anything. Dean is in front of him, then, holding out the keys to the Impala and it’s all Sam could do to keep the tears from falling. Sam shook his head. “Come on,” Dean coaxed. “You know the drill. No chick-flick moments. Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>He hesitated before taking the keys. This truly marked the end, and what was left of his heart shattered inside of his chest. “Yeah, you love chick flicks,” Sam teased, his only goal being to help ease Dean’s own emotions.</p><p> </p><p>Dean chuckled a bit and agreed with him before pulling Sam forward, kissing him hard while holding onto him with every last bit of strength that he had. Sam clung to Dean, his hands fisted at the back of his shirt. The kiss ended way too soon, and Sam couldn’t find a way to step away. He pressed their foreheads together, his tears fell freely now. “I love you.” Sam spoke too softly for anyone other than Dean to hear the words. “I…” He lost the words in his throat. </p><p> </p><p>“Me too, Sammy.” They stood, hugging, for long minutes, and it took everything Sam had to step back when Dean did. “Okay. Let's do this.”</p><p> </p><p>Chuck snapped his fingers, and then Dean was gone.</p><p> </p><p>The next hour was agonizing. The sun didn’t change, at least, so he knew that Dean was still okay. Or, Dean was still as okay as he could be. But the inevitable still loomed and with each passing minute, Sam sunk deeper and deeper into his grief. Charlie tried to help him keep his head above water while Cas watched him with what Sam would call an obsessive eye, but neither helped. He found himself wondering how he would live, and not just in the physical sense. In the last three years, he had planned their entire lives out for them. He had agonized over houses, searching for the perfect house in the perfect town in the perfect state. Now, a house was all but bought. Charlie had set them up with new, legitimate, identities and enough cash to keep them afloat until they could get jobs and settle into the new civilian life. He had even been looking at local shelter websites for a dog to adopt. That was all for nothing. He would never get the life he described to Dean that night, because, for Sam, that life revolved around Dean - Dean’s happiness, Dean’s needs, Dean’s wants, Dean’s whims. Without Dean, the life he had dreamed about and planned was pointless. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he’d just keep hunting. Hunting by yourself was dangerous, of course, but there wasn’t another person he’d trust to hunt with him. He didn’t want Charlie to be in danger, and while he could hunt with Cas, there seemed to be bigger things on the angel’s horizon if the angels were truly sealing Heaven. Jody had her own life in South Dakota, and she’d kill him if he suggested taking Claire on hunts. Alex didn’t seem interested in hunting, and Jody would kill him if he suggested her, too. Never in Sam’s life had he ever felt more alone, even in a room full of people. Well, in a room filled with one human, one angel, one witch, and one demon.</p><p> </p><p>The house wasn’t an issue, either. Once Dean had determined he’d be the one to carry the bomb that would destroy Amara, Sam had told himself he’d simply stay in the bunker. It was the most logical thing to do, though he’d have to move rooms because he didn’t think he could continue to live in the one he shared with Dean. Maybe, though, he’d still adopt a dog. Truckers had dogs, right? This life wasn’t much different. Yeah, maybe a dog. </p><p> </p><p>Sam’s not sure how long they were in the bar. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that the shift in light from the suddenly brighter sun was almost lost on him until Charlie tugged him outside by the sleeve of his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“He did it.” Crowley stared at the sky, mouth agape.</p><p> </p><p>Rowena agreed with him, just as shocked. “He bloody did it.”</p><p> </p><p>“And Dean?” </p><p> </p><p>The words were nearly enough to crumble Sam to his knees in the dust.</p><p> </p><p>Sam lost time again, deeper now in his own grief. He remembered, vaguely, Charlie driving the Impala toward the bunker, and he came to enough to half stumble down the stairs into the main library. Sam barely heard Cas’s words. “Sam, I’m so sorry. If you want to talk…” The angel paused, seeming to realize what he’d just said and just how much Sam wouldn’t want to talk to anyone, about anything. “I’m here if you need anything,” he finished somewhat lamely, but not without genuine, heartfelt emotion.</p><p> </p><p>Sam only nodded before he shuffled into their room and onto their bed, taking up the exact middle with his back to the door. He couldn’t have stopped the sobs even if he wanted to. He hurt. His chest hurt, his head hurt, his heart hurt, his stomach hurt… There wasn’t an inch on his body that didn’t hurt from the physical manifestation of the emotional agony he felt from losing Dean. Sam pulled himself into a tight ball, hugging Dean’s pillow to his chest and burying his face into it, uncaring that he was snotting it all up. He spent hours like that, some of them crying and some of them just numb and staring at the wall in front of him. He knew Charlie and Cas were still somewhere in the bunker, worried about him, but he couldn’t think about it beyond that. </p><p> </p><p>Somewhere in his grief, he was aware of Cas knocking on the door to ask him to eat. Sam couldn’t bring himself to answer. He knew Dean would want him to eat; Dean would want him to take care of himself. Sam still couldn’t do it. Eventually, he cried himself out and fell into some sort of disturbed sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Something warm and solid against his back woke Sam up. He groaned and tried to throw off the arm that had found its way around his waist. “Cas.” It had to be Cas - the body was too large and hard to be Charlie. “I need to be alone.” The arm didn’t move (it actually tightened slightly), and neither did the angel. “Cas, <em> please </em>.” These words were whined, a desperate plea to be left alone. Sam felt the tenuous hold he’d managed to gain on his emotions begin to slip, panic starting to set in at a fast rate.</p><p> </p><p>“If I never hear those words, in that voice, come out of your mouth again, I’ll die a happy man.” </p><p> </p><p>Sam’s heart stopped, and he had wrenched himself away from the arm and the body so quickly he nearly fell off the edge of the bed in his haste to flip over. Dean was there, laughing at him, and Sam had to wonder if this was some sort of demented dream. Sam stared, wide-eyed, across the bed at his brother. But then, Dean was reaching out to him and, demented dream or not, there was nothing in Sam’s body that would allow him to stay away. </p><p> </p><p>Sam pulled Dean to him roughly, their mouths finding each other’s. Sam kissed Dean roughly, desperate to reaffirm that his brother was here and real and okay. He clung to Dean tightly and Dean clung back, every inch of their bodies pressed together. If he hadn’t been crying for hours and hours, Sam would have been now. Dean was the one who ended the kiss with reassuring whispers. He stayed close, though, fingers tight in Sam’s hip and back. “Right here, Sammy.” </p><p> </p><p>“<em> De </em> …” Sam wasn’t even sure what he was asking, whining, <em> begging </em> for in the moment, but he clung tighter to Dean still, kissing him again, softer this time. Needier. Sam sucked on Dean’s full bottom lip, his eyes scrunched closed tightly, afraid that Dean would really and truly be gone if he opened them again.</p><p> </p><p>“I got you, baby boy… Got you.” Dean whispered the words in between kisses, instinctively knowing what Sam needed, as always. “‘m right here, baby brother. Gonna take care of you.” Dean kissed him again and again, words spilling out steadily, too. </p><p> </p><p>How Dean always knew what it was Sam needed, Sam would never know. He didn’t care right now, either. The words went a long way in soothing his soul, but he still needed more. “<em> Need you </em> .” The words were a low, keening whine. Sam arched into Dean’s touch, a physical manifestation of what he was asking for. “Please, Dean... <em> Please </em> .” There was a desperation in Sam’s voice that he very rarely had. He wasn’t sure if Dean had heard it since around the time he’d left for school. “Please,” he begged again, “take me...claim me…yours... <em> please </em>...” He was babbling now, unable to stop the flow of words, even as Dean tried to kiss him quiet. Dean resorted to other measures and nipped Sam’s bottom lip pretty sharply. It did the job, and Sam fell back into the kiss, his brain quieted slightly. Sam whined when Dean pulled away to shuck off their shirts, but he didn’t stay away for long and the tight ball of nerves that had begun to tighten in Sam’s chest again loosened and he breathed out a little sigh at that. </p><p> </p><p>Dean did take care of him. He kissed over every inch of Sam’s body, removing clothes as they got in his way with gentle fingers. Dean paid attention to the spots that brought Sam to his highest highs: his ear lobes, his Adam’s apple, his nipples, the inside of his wrists, his hip bones… Each was licked, and nibbled, and kissed, and sucked until Sam was a puddle of shuddering goo beneath Dean’s lips. Soft sounds, moans and whimpers and gasps, fell from Sam’s lips as Dean’s mouth worshipped him, grounded him. Sam’s fingers found purchase in his brother’s hair, tugging sharply because his words were still failing him. It had the intended effect. “Hands and knees, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was hoarse, deeper than usual, and it did something to Sam’s insides that felt like liquid fire. Sam’s head was still fuzzy from grief and elation both at once, but he was clear-headed enough to shake his head at Dean’s command. He needed to see Dean; Sam needed to be able to touch him. The information passed between them silently in their way: Sam pleaded with Dean with his eyes, and Dean passed back acceptance and agreement through his. Dean slid his hands beneath Sam’s thighs and nudged, a gentle command that had Sam lifting his knees up and spreading his legs apart for his big brother. Dean’s fingers were there immediately, slick with lube to open him.</p><p> </p><p>Sam pressed his hips up onto Dean’s fingers a bit forcefully, effectively fucking himself on them. Sam’s hands came up to Dean’s shoulders, fingertips tightly gripping solid muscle and blunt nails digging into warm flesh. Sweat was beginning to pool on his chest and stomach now, and he continued to fight silently with Dean: his brother trying to not hurt him while Sam needed to <em> feel it </em> ; he needed to feel, to know, that Dean was there and that this was real. Sam hadn’t paid attention to how many fingers were stretching him, but it wasn’t enough. “De… more… please… <em> please </em> …” Sam could tell that Dean was torn between not causing pain and giving Sam what he wanted. The latter, it seemed, won out. Dean pushed himself up and shuffled to settle between Sam’s legs. Sam watched Dean reach down between them to slick lube over his hard cock, and then there was a burning pressure where only moments before there had been emptiness. Sam keened and pressed his hips up again, pushing himself onto his brother’s cock as Dean pressed into him. Sam wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist, locking his ankles together there while Dean bent forward, resting his hands on either side of Sam’s head and looming over his younger brother. Dean knew, just like always. His movements were quick, hips pounding hard into Sam, making sure Sam would <em> feel </em> it come morning. It was exactly what Sam needed, and he felt the tears start to flow down his cheeks as the emotions boiled over once more. </p><p> </p><p>Dean’s fingers dug into Sam’s hips, pulling Sam back onto Dean’s cock as Dean rammed forward, driving deep into his brother. Sam’s entire world narrowed down to Dean’s hands and dick and the sensations each caused. Dean’s aim was impeccable. Sam only saw stars behind his eyes, and the pressure was very quickly building in the pit of his belly. He was grateful that Dean understood, once again without words, that this wasn’t something Sam needed or wanted to be drawn out. “<em> Touch me </em>!” Sam gasped the words out, a desperate plea to feel Dean’s calloused hand wrap around his leaking cock. Dean complied immediately, gripping Sam’s dick in a tight grip. Dean worked his fist in time with his hips, though Sam had no clue how his brother managed it. Sam’s back arched as Dean twisted his wrist and rubbed his rough palm over the head of Sam’s cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” The word tumbled out of Sam’s mouth over and over again, the only thing his brain was able to supply his mouth with. Sam’s fingers dragged down, leaving long, thin, red lines down Dean’s shoulders and arms, Sam’s hands finally settling once more, this time around Dean’s flexed biceps. Sam lost more time, then. He could have been underneath Dean for minutes or days, and it wouldn’t have mattered which it was. Dean kept pounding into him and fisting Sam’s dick roughly. Neither of those things were what sent Sam over the edge, though; it was Dean thrusting into him one last time and then filling him. Both Sam and Dean let out a shout, riding out the waves of their orgasms together before collapsing onto the bed fully, panting.</p><p> </p><p>Sam reached down and linked his hand with Dean’s, pulling it up and settling them on his chest, over his heart. Dean let him, squeezing Sam’s hand in acknowledgement. Neither had the energy for more than that in the moment.</p><p> </p><p>They did move, eventually. Dean groaned as he pushed himself up and Sam winced, but he stood, too. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist, tugging him close enough to lean down and kiss him deeply, his tongue licking into Dean’s mouth to taste him. “I love you.” Sam bent his head further, nuzzling into Dean’s warm neck and breathing in deeply while pressing soft kisses along the length from jaw to the junction where his neck met his shoulder. Dean held Sam, too, his arms wrapped around Sam’s slim waist, and he pressed kisses of his own to his brother’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s response was a quiet “love you”, and then, in a more normal voice, Dean told him, “Go shower, Sam. I’ll change the bed.” Sam nodded. He pulled on his old boxers and gathered a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before leaving the room. He still had no idea what time it was, nor did he know where Cas or Charlie were. The bunker was quiet, so maybe it was late and they were sleeping, or maybe they saw Dean first and knew what was going to happen when Sam woke up so they left. He guessed it didn’t matter, because, eventually, things would get back to normal. </p><p> </p><p>Sam showered, cleaning up thoroughly but quickly. He had to keep telling himself that he hadn’t dreamt the ache from sex, or Dean’s scent. But even that had washed away with the soap and the intrusive thoughts left him panicking just a little bit as he pulled on his clothes without even being fully dried yet. Sam hurried back to their bedroom, planning how to deal with the utter devastation that would collapse his heart if Dean wasn’t there. He couldn’t help the very heavy sigh of relief when he turned the corner into the room and found Dean lying on the bed, on the side that was closest to the door, dressed and looking much more relaxed than Sam was. He closed the door and turned the light off, and then Sam climbed onto the bed, pressing close to Dean again. Sam’s head was on Dean’s chest, and his arm was laid across Dean’s bare waist. Dean wrapped his own arms around Sam, too, and a happy little sigh escaped his lips which made Sam’s heart flutter just a little. </p><p> </p><p>They laid in silence for a long time. Sam’s soul was once more at peace, but his mind was busy making plans. </p><p> </p><p>This was their out. Even if the angels had sealed heaven, there was nothing he nor Dean could do about it, except support Cas. And they could do that while not being hunters. Charlie had everything ready, they just had to put the offer in on the house. Maybe he and Dean could drive out to see it first. Sam had finally settled on a decent piece of land only a few hours from the bunker. That it was a tiny town with a population of less than 1000, and it was less than an hour outside of Dodge City, which boasted a wild west attraction, was just a bonus. Sam had hoped that it would help seal the deal for Dean. The house was larger than they strictly needed, but Sam fell in love with it and the property as soon as he saw it. It needed a lot of work, too, but both he and Dean would need something to occupy them while they were looking for work. The property also had a large garage, which was the biggest selling point for Sam, because he wanted Dean to have that. “We have to be done, Dean.” Sam kept his voice soft, afraid to spoil the moment but also knowing he had to get the words out. “I won’t… I <em> can’t </em>…” The words “lose you” got stuck in Sam’s throat. </p><p> </p><p>Dean didn’t need to hear them, it seemed. “I know.” Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected a fight, not when Dean made it clear that he would follow Sam’s lead in this, but hearing the words helped soothe him even further somehow. He felt Dean’s fingers come up to his head, nails scratching lightly into Sam’s scalp as fingers carded through long, still-wet hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie helped me set everything up. New socials, last names, money, high school diplomas…” The last fell from Sam’s lips. It wasn’t exactly a sore subject with Dean, but he had made the call when Charlie had asked and now Sam was hoping he hadn’t stepped on Dean’s toes. That didn’t seem to be what caught Dean’s attention, though.</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s fingers stuttered in their light scratching for a moment. “Names? Plural?” Sam felt himself flush red, and he dipped his head down to hide it in his own shoulder, despite the fact that it was the top of his head that Dean was currently looking at. He was sure Dean could feel how heated the cheek that was pressed against his chest was.</p><p> </p><p>Sam remembered the day that Charlie asked him about the type of information he wanted changed and Sam had flitted back and forth between a shared last name and different ones. There were benefits and fall backs to both, so far as he was concerned. He had told Dean, that night years ago, that he wanted to be able to have their relationship in the open. They could have done that with one last name, but then everyone would assume they were married and it just felt like he couldn’t make that kind of decision without Dean’s input. Sam knew he could have asked Dean what he thought, but he wanted to <em> date </em> Dean. And, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to plan a proposal and a wedding to share with the friends they would make in their new life. </p><p> </p><p>It was months later that Charlie had pushed him for an answer, and Sam had made a very selfish decision: Sam had told Charlie to give them different last names. She just smiled her infectious smile, said “okay”, and clicked away on her keyboard. Sam had been grateful at the time, but now he was a little embarrassed as he tried to put those thoughts and feelings into words. “I…” The words got stuck between Sam’s brain and his mouth, and he buried his face into his own arm again as the flush in his cheeks flared up once more. “I just…” he tried again, getting no further than his first attempt at speaking the words that were on the tip of his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>“You what, Sammy?” </p><p> </p><p>Maybe no one else would have heard it in Dean’s voice, but Sam had a lifetime of studying the nuances of Dean’s voice and tone and inflection. There was amusement there. Maybe Dean was smiling, but Sam wouldn’t know just then. There was also a teasing quality to Dean’s tone in those three words, and it gave him away. Dean knew exactly what Sam was thinking; he knew what Sam wanted to say and he was going to make Sam say it anyway. Dean, in Sam’s immediate opinion, was an asshole. </p><p> </p><p>“Just wanna be <em> normal </em>,” Sam finally managed to get out, though his voice was much softer than he’d have liked it to be. He didn’t want Dean to think he was ashamed for wanting what he wanted, because he wasn’t. “I want…” Sam paused again, but this time Dean didn’t interrupt him while he gathered his thoughts and ordered them. “I wanna be just two guys who love each other and are making a life together. I don’t want to have to hide that part of us. Different last names was the easiest way.” </p><p> </p><p>Really, they hadn’t had to hide their relationship, for the most part. Cas had shrugged at them, not because he didn’t care about either of them, but because he didn’t understand why someone would care in the first place. Charlie had beamed at Sam when he told her, because he had to tell her in order to get her to help him set up their new life. She offered no insight as to why he and Dean being together in this way didn’t bother her like Sam thought it should, and Sam didn’t ask. Anyone else whose opinion might have mattered to Sam and Dean, and who might have cared that they were more than brothers, were dead. But it was still a tricky situation when they had contacts all over the country who may or may not care, and who were all very capable of doing them physical harm if they had any strong opinions. That risk just hadn’t been worth it to either of them. </p><p> </p><p>Dean didn’t answer right away, but there was no tension in his body, so Sam wasn’t worried. He let Dean process the information however he needed to, for as long as he needed to, as he closed his eyes and relaxed further into the bed and Dean’s body. The pad of Sam’s thumb kept a steady rhythm, brushing over Dean’s hip bone as they laid together in the dark of the room, comfortable in just existing together like this. It occurred to Sam that he had no clue what time it was, or how long Dean had been laying with him before he’d woken up. He opened his mouth to ask, but Dean spoke first. “What names?” </p><p> </p><p>Sam smiled a bit. Their new last names had been all Charlie. She had had the idea and researched, choosing two that she felt suited them both, not individually but as a unit despite them being different from each other. When she had shown them to Sam, he had laughed, but agreed that they were the absolute perfect choice. “Dean Wesson and Sam Colt,” Sam answered, still smiling. “Charlie wanted to ‘pay homage’ to Winchester, since we couldn’t keep it.” </p><p> </p><p>Dean made a sound, and for a second it sounded like a whine. Sam quirked an eyebrow, that Dean couldn’t see, and waited to see if Dean would actually use his words. He didn’t have to wait long. “Why do you get to be Colt, Sammy?” That was definitely Dean whining, and maybe pouting, and Sam had to laugh. Dean continued to talk before Sam could answer, too. “I mean. Wouldn’t it make more sense for <em> me </em> to have the last name, since, you know, I always use a Colt?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam shifted so that he could lie flat on his stomach, his chin now resting on Dean’s sternum while he looked up at his brother. “Are you <em> jealous </em>, De?” Sam asked, amusement fully evident in his tone, his smile wide. </p><p> </p><p>“And, I mean,” Dean continued, without answering Sam’s question, “<em> the </em> Colt, Sammy. It’s awesome. I’m awesome. It should have been a no-brainer, really. <em> And </em>, and, I got us those phoenix ashes with it.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam gaped at Dean, and he tried really hard to not laugh. He basically succeeded. Almost. “So you’re saying I’m <em> not </em> awesome?” There was mock offense in his voice, but the expression on Sam’s face never changed. “And if you’re going to bring up our trip in time, I think it’s important to remind you that I was the one who convinced Samuel Colt to give me the gun in the first place, <em> and </em> it was Samuel Colt who sent us the ashes that we couldn’t get before we disappeared.” Dean huffed, and Sam laughed as he crawled up Dean’s body the few inches he needed to in order to kiss Dean’s pouting lips. </p><p> </p><p>Dean didn’t kiss him back, which only added to Sam’s amusement, and Dean appeared to change tactics. “<em> Wesson </em>, Sammy?” Sam had the decency to blush a bit at that accusation, even if Dean couldn’t currently see his pinked cheeks. </p><p> </p><p>Really, Sam expected Dean to react to this more so than be jealous of his own new last name. That it was secondary to the jealousy was kind of adorable, even if Sam wouldn’t ever tell Dean that. “Charlie chose the last names, Dean. She couldn’t have known the history, and by the time I knew what she chose, everything had been settled,” Sam pointed out matter-of-factly. “She couldn’t change it without starting all over, and that would have drawn too much attention.” Sam’s brain supplied a line about Dean being able to change his last name if (when) they got married, but Sam didn’t actually say those words out loud. It felt too soon, and not the right time, and too much all at once. Sam didn’t even know if Dean ever wanted to get married, period. What if he brought up marriage and it wasn’t something Dean wanted? Sam figured distracting Dean was his best bet in the moment. “We can go look at the house and land I found later...tomorrow… I don’t even know what time or day it is,” Sam confessed.</p><p> </p><p>Even in the dark, Sam could tell that Dean’s eyebrows had raised, probably in surprise. “You’ve been busy.” After a minute, almost as an afterthought, Dean answered the unasked question. “It was late when I got back. One or two in the morning. It’s probably close to dawn now.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam nodded with the information, grateful for it. He didn’t like not having a sense of time, and it was one of the things he was looking forward to most when they moved out of the bunker. “I’ve been planning this for three years,” Sam countered softly. “And Charlie’s been working on it for almost two.” He shifted his weight again, and Sam rested his head on Dean’s chest once more. Sam’s face was buried in Dean’s neck now, nose nuzzling the warm skin there. “It just wasn’t the right time.” Sam felt Dean nod before he felt warm lips press to his forehead. “But now…” Sam shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me about the house, Sammy.” Sam smiled and relaxed fully into Dean’s arms and body, launching into a detailed description of the house he wanted them to buy and fix up as their own. </p><p> </p><p>Sam eventually drifted off into sleep. He slept deeply, both from the absolute emotional exhaustion of the day and being so content with Dean so close. He woke the same way - slowly and full of contentment. Sam could feel Dean pillowed beneath him, and he hummed sleepily, cuddling closer to Dean’s solid warmth. “Time izit?” Truthfully, Sam didn’t know if Dean was awake or not, but the way the chest beneath his cheek rose and fell told him it was a good possibility.</p><p> </p><p>The answer came almost immediately, causing Sam to smile because he’d been right. “‘bout ten.” Dean’s voice was sleep-rough, and it sent a shiver up Sam’s spine. Sam turned his head and pressed a warm kiss to the center of Dean’s chest, content to continue to lay together for a while longer while they planned their day. If he wanted to take Dean to see the house, then they would need to leave in a few hours. Sam said as much, suggesting maybe staying somewhere overnight, even though it was only about a three hour drive. While Sam’s nerves had repaired themselves overnight, there was still a slight itch beneath his skin to get away. It would take some time for the sale of the house, so for now, this was the best that he could do and Sam breathed a soft sigh of relief when Dean agreed. </p><p> </p><p>They lounged for another hour or so before Dean finally pushed Sam off of him, leaving Sam laughing on the bed while watching Dean’s body appreciatively as he walked away. He lounged in bed for a few minutes longer, though Sam was tempted to go join Dean in his shower, but finally relented to getting up and dressed. </p><p> </p><p>Before he could close the dresser, though, something caught Sam’s eye and made him pause. He stood there, staring while debating whether or not he had the guts to do what he wanted with it. Sam wavered back and forth for only a few minutes before deciding, figuring it wasn’t <em> that </em>big of a risk. Sam dug through the drawer to find the exact thing he was looking for and then pulled it out and laid it out on the bed for Dean to see when he came back from his shower. </p><p> </p><p>That happened to be just then. Dean walked into the room, a towel hanging low on his hips and his hair still dripping water down onto his shoulders. Sam looked up and caught the raised eyebrow from Dean, a clear question as he eyed the black satin panties laying on the bed. Sam only shrugged in response, just a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dean answered with his own smirk, dropping his towel and picking up the panties Sam had laid out and stepped into them, settling them on his hips. Sam watched, and he groaned when the picture in front of him was completed. Dean stepped forward, still smirking, pressing his body against Sam’s. His hands settled on Sam’s hips and Dean’s mouth brushed ever so lightly across Sam’s neck. “You like seein’ me in panties, Sammy?” he whispered, nipping at Sam’s earlobe which earned him a low moan.</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s larger hands gripped at Dean’s hips, fingers digging into the top of his ass while pulling his body closer. Sam dipped his head, capturing Dean’s mouth for a needy kiss. When it ended, he breathed his response of, “fuck yeah.” Sam slid his hands down to really cup the cheeks of Dean’s ass, squeezing them in his strong grip and pulling their bodies together a touch more.</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s voice was still breathy when he spoke again. “Which do you like more, Sam?” He licked a stripe up the tendon in Sam’s neck. “That I’m wearin’ ‘em,” he nipped sharply just behind Sam’s ear, “or that I’m wearin’ ‘em because you laid ‘em out for me?” Sam moaned again, and Dean bit down where Sam’s neck met his shoulder, sucking a mark there.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yes.” What small amount of mental faculties Sam had left were quickly fleeing. Dean chuckled at his response, clearly amused at Sam losing his words. He kissed Dean again, Sam’s tongue pushing its way into Dean’s mouth, tasting and teasing in the same movement. Sam <em> felt </em> Dean moan into the kiss, which caused his own already-hard cock to throb. He sucked on Dean’s tongue for a second before releasing it and nipping his bottom lip sharply, and then Sam gently pulled out of the kiss, a bit breathless. Their foreheads were resting against each other, breathing each other’s air as each worked to calm down. The moment wasn’t about sex for Sam, but the intimacy and the build-up. Sam kissed Dean again, softer this time and just a second more than a peck before he stepped away more fully, his hands re-settling on Dean’s hips. “Get dressed. I’ll make us breakfast.” Sam was nearly out of the room when Dean responded, calling him a tease, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “Says the one wearing panties,” he tossed back good-naturedly.</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s eyes grew a bit wide and his mouth dropped open, whether because he was truly shocked that Sam was arguing with him or not Sam couldn’t be sure. “You told me to wear them!” </p><p> </p><p>“No, I laid them out as a suggestion,” Sam pointed out with a shit-eating grin. “You know what reaction you wearing them gets out of me and you chose to put them on,” he added with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“Go make breakfast,” Dean huffed, his bottom lip sticking out just a fraction in, what was in Sam’s opinion, an adorable pout. “Pancakes, Sammy!” Sam knew a demand when he heard one, but it made him laugh nonetheless as he finally exited the room and headed for the kitchen. Dean emerged from their bedroom and they ate before packing a small cooler with a few drinks and pulling out onto the highway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to Chaotic_Librarian for helping beta &lt;3</p><p>One last quick thing, because both of my betas had a comment about this particular thing: It is very dangerous to mix alcohol and opiates. I know this. However, I kept it in because it doesn't seem out of the realm of possibilities to me that it's something Sam and/or Dean would do in a situation like that. </p><p>If you yourself have a problem with alcohol or other drugs, you can reach out to AA and/or NA (both of which are offering Virtual Meetings in the midst of the COVID-19 health crisis):<br/>https://www.na.org/<br/>https://www.aa.org/</p><p>If you live with someone who has a problem with alcohol or other drugs, you can reach out to Al-Anon (who is offering Virtual Meetings in the midst of the COVID-19 health crisis):<br/>https://al-anon.org/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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